


What You Got

by GoldStarGrl



Category: Cobra Kai (Web Series)
Genre: Angst, Drunk Sex, Fix-It, Intercrural Sex, M/M, Rating for later chapters, Season 3 Spoilers, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-02
Updated: 2021-01-18
Packaged: 2021-03-10 23:55:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 13,267
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28495695
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GoldStarGrl/pseuds/GoldStarGrl
Summary: “People are gonna think you’re abducting him,” Daniel says mildly.Johnny shoves Robby into the backseat, slamming the door before he can bolt again. “You can’t abduct your own kid.”A fix-it for 3.08.
Relationships: Daniel LaRusso/Johnny Lawrence
Comments: 98
Kudos: 530





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The title comes from [ a Tesla song](https://youtu.be/9vwHuCC6nP8) that, fittingly, my dad used to play incessantly when I was a little girl and is about the importance of actions.

He doesn’t let Robby run off. 

Part of him – the shameful part that’s been in control far too often the past seventeen years – wanted to let him, write it off as a temper tantrum. Something for Robby to get over on his own, or at the worst, Shan’s problem, LaRusso’s problem. 

But Shan was drying out in an overpriced spa, and LaRusso was standing a foot to his left, looking just helpless and confused as Johnny felt, and something in the base, instinctual part of his brain told him if he let his kid walk down the front steps and into the wide cold world, he’d lose him forever. 

So he moved.

Before the thought could even crystalize into words, he got his arms around Robby’s waist and tossed him over his shoulder like a fireman. He wasn't that heavy, and with a pang Johnny wondered if he wasn’t getting enough to eat inside.

“What the fuck!” He hissed, and drove his knee into Johnny’s stomach, hard. His strength hadn't depleted, then. Johnny winced, but didn't loosen his grip.

“Johnny!” Daniel split his name into two lilting syllables, _Jaw-nee,_ the dulcet tones of exasperation. He swung around to look at him, and Robby yanked a chunk of his hair, kicking against Johnny’s leg with renewed force.

“Put me down, asshole!”

“Get your car unlocked,” he said grimly to Daniel, and continued down the concrete stairs with a heavy step, Robby twisting and scratching like a Tasmanian Devil. It was a hard hold to get out of, you had no leverage. He’s a little surprised someone as tiny as LaRusso hadn’t worked on this with him.

“People are gonna think you’re abducting him,” Daniel said mildly. He waved his keys near the door and the car unlocked with a happy _chirp._

Johnny shoved Robby into the backseat through the passenger’s side, slamming the door before he could bolt again. “You can’t abduct your own kid.”

“Actually, about 90% of AMBER alerts are sent out because children are kidnapped in a custody battle.” Daniel got into the driver’s seat, and pressed his thumb down on a console button, child-locking the back doors.

Johnny slid into the passenger’s side. A tender spot was blooming where Robby landed a good kick on his thigh. “What was I supposed to do, just let him fuck off?"

"Of course not, I just-" Daniel leaned in, dropped his voice a little, even though Robby could probably hear them in the enclosed space. “What is the plan here, Johnny? Where are we taking him?"

Johnny hesitated. His apartment was too close to Miguel, to his crutches and wheelchair and crushing guilt for all of them. LaRusso’s house was...well, too full of LaRussos.

“This is _BULLSHIT_!” Robby kicked the back of Johnny’s seat hard, sending him jolting forward. “I told you to get out of my life!”

“Robby, you’re seventeen.” Daniel shifted the car into drive. The radio flipped on too loud, to a news channel where some chick with a British accent was talking about war in Lesotho. “Which means you're still a minor, and we’re responsible for putting a roof over your head.”

Robby crossed his arms tightly across his chest and glared out the window as they pulled onto the freeway. Johnny dimly thought he should figure out how to get his car back – the second one of LaRusso’s he’d left somewhere – before the British lady drove him to distraction. He tried to change the station on Daniel’s weird space car to classic rock, but ended up blasting country. All three of them wince.

“Like you give a shit,” he grumbled. “I can handle myself. There are people my age out on their own, _with kids_.”

“Yeah, those are the winners you want to look up to,” Johnny rolled his eyes, and was rewarded with another kick to his seat.

“Because I had such a stellar role model in _you_.”

“ _Robby_.” Daniel said his name the same way he said Johnny’s; broken in two, with a hint of a warning running underneath it. “Let's just take a beat. It’s been a hard day – hard few weeks, really. Why don’t we swing through In-N-Out, get you your first meal as a free man?”

“I’m not hungry.”

“I am, so we’re going,” Johnny blurted out, because he really didn't have a plan beyond keeping Robby in that seat. All he can think is that if he’s in the car with the two of them, he can’t be hurt, or lost. 

More than he already is, anyway.

LaRusso must be thinking the same thing, as he never gave him an answer on their final destination, and if they’re both stalling, he might as well get some free food out of it. “LaRusso’s buying.”

Daniel ground his jaw and mercifully fixed the radio, tuning it to a Top 40 station. It sounded like auto-tuned garbage to Johnny, but Robby stilled a little in the back seat, so he must not hate it.

It reminds him of when he was a baby, the two or three times Johnny drove around all night trying to make him sleep. Shan in the backseat, rocking him in her lap because he’d outgrown the carseat the hospital made her bring him home in and they couldn’t afford another one. Playing music, any kind of music, soft from his cassettes, seemed to calm him down. A salve, then and now. He knows the feeling.

Johnny wondered if everyone’s like that, just comes out cooked with all the quirks and personality traits they’ll have for the rest of their lives. If he was born a fuck-up, passed the poison onto Robby. 

Robby gave them the silent treatment when Daniel tried to place their order in the drive through, so he just got three Animal Style burgers and a bag overflowing with fries. Johnny ripped open a ketchup packet too hard and it splattered all over the seat.

“Jesus, Johnny!” Daniel started dabbing in every direction with paper napkins. 

“Relax, they’re leather seats, it’ll come off.”

“The smell won’t. You know what?” He grabbed the bag back. “You lost your eating-in-the-car privileges. First the corn nuts, then this–”

“Lighten up, LaRusso,” Johnny reached across the console to claw out a handful of fries, making sure to munch on them as messily as he could. 

Daniel tossed the bag in the backseat, but Robby didn't even look at it. 

“I have to go to the bathroom,” he said, with more animosity than Johnny ever heard that sentence delivered with in his life. 

“It’s just another ten minutes to my house, can you hold it?” Christ, if Johnny’s terrible at being a dad, LaRusso swings way too far in the other direction, babying kids like they’re four. 

“I’ll just go into the restaurant.” Robby vainly tried to rattle the back door again.

“No, we shouldn’t,” Johnny mumbled softly, shaking his head. _He gets out, he’ll make a run for it._ Shit, he really was thinking like a kidnapper. “Go in there, I mean, um-” The music was low, dragging him back to the early 00s again, driving in the dark with Shan. 

Shannon, that was it. Her and Robby’s place was only a few blocks away and surely still had some of Robby’s shit in there. Most importantly, it was empty of any angry neighbors and family.

“LaRusso,” he sat up, cuffed Daniel’s ear with his hand on muscle memory. “Go up there, take a left on Cameron.”


	2. Chapter 2

None of the switches in the Keenes’ loft worked when Johnny flicked them up and down.

“Where’s the circuit breaker?” He asked. Maybe he could take a look at it, at least make sure his kid wasn’t sitting in the dark. _Oh, wow, look who's father of the year._

“Nothing’s broken, the power got cut,” Daniel muttered under his breath, setting the quickly cooling fast food on the counter of the breakfast nook. “God knows how long ago."

Johnny rolled his eyes. Of course it had. And Shan always gave _him_ shit for being a mess.

 _She’s doing better, though._ The nasty voice in his head spouted off again. _With her life coach and her stupid sweaters. You’re the one who showed up at juvie with a hangover._

"I got the landlord paid until the end of the year, just so Shannon has a place to come back to when she gets out, but it's been pretty barebones since...” Daniel turned on the faucet, nodded encouragingly when it started gushing. “Pipes still going.” He ran a hand under the water. “It’s just cold.”

Robby shoved past them both, peeling off his hoodie and dirty t-shirt when he did.

“Where are you going?” Daniel called. 

Robby pushed through a door next to the dark kitchen. They both caught a glimpse of tiles before it closed, locked. A few seconds later, the shower started running. 

They looked blankly at each other for a second, startled to find themselves alone while Robby stubbornly took a freezing shower. Johnny tried to remember what they’d been arguing about back before their impromptu son-snatching.

“Thanks for the ride.” He said, lamely.

Daniel wiped his wet hand on his pants. “I’m gonna call the electric company, see if I get the power back on. Do _not_ eat all of that,” he points warningly to the bag.

“Fuck you LaRusso, I’m not some wild animal,” Johnny snapped, sitting up straight like he’d put his hand on the counter for normal, non-taking-the-bag-back reasons. 

“It’s getting cold anyway,” Daniel took his phone out, tapped away on some app. “After I call, I’ll run down to the store, get something fresh to make for dinner.”

Johnny blinked. “You don’t have to stay.”

LaRusso scoffed lightly, distracted by whatever he saw on his screen. "Of course I do."

“The hell is that supposed to mean?” _You’re a fuck-up, you’ll make everything worse, just like you always do._

Daniel let his head drop back against the exposed brick wall. “I didn’t-look, he's trying to piss us off until we leave. We need to show we're not going anywhere no matter how much of a dick he is."

Johnny remembers Carmen told him that too, if a teenager doesn't hate you at least a little, you're not doing your job right. When did everyone else learn this? While he was out trying to drink himself to death? 

LaRusso is still talking. "...and that means being a united front. Making him feel like he’s just the rope in a Cobra Kai/Miyagi-Do tug-of-war is not going to get him to trust us again."

Of course this was about LaRusso, who couldn't stand the shame of being a subpar Sensei, of his favorite student hating him. If his guilt was going to pay the electric bill and keep Robby somewhere safe, through, Johnny supposes he could play nice.

“...why does he need more food? You trying to force feed him to death?”

Daniel accepts this for the indirect truce it is, smiled with the corner of his mouth. “I’m Italian. Food is how we show love.”

 _Love._ It stuck in Johnny’s throat like peanut butter. LaRusso pinched his phone between his face and shoulder, idly searching the fridge for spoiled food to throw out. Like it’s nothing to use that word, pin it to a kid who wasn't even his. Johnny didn't love Sam or the annoying little one. Daniel loved Robby because he didn't trust Johnny to do it.

He suddenly couldn't stand to look at him.

He got up from the counter and picked up Robby's discarded clothes as Daniel made his calls, wandered into Shannon’s bedroom, untouched for months, then into Robby’s. 

He dropped the clothes on the unmade bed, skimmed his fingers across the Machine Gun Kelly poster, the shelf with some of his skateboarding gear on it. A photobooth strip, featuring pictures of Shan (half in the bag, of course) and a six-year-old Robby, thumbtacked to the wall. A bowl packed with the dried stems of some terrible looking weed on the dresser, a pair of black Vans thrown on his chair. 

A whole life in here, one that existed between the toddler Johnny’d walked out on and the angry, withdrawn teenager he’d thrown in a luxury car that morning. A whole person sliced away, bit by bit, by violence and bad decisions and neglect.

_Maybe he just has a little too much of you in him._

“What are you doing?” Robby stood in the doorway with a towel wrapped around his waist, hair slicked back, wet and dark.

“Sorry,” Johnny mumbled, trying to dodge him and leave the room, but his son blocked the doorway. 

“Don’t touch my stuff.”

“I’m not. LaRusso was yapping on the phone, I just…” he faded off, the excuse so flimsy it dissolves on his tongue. He _was_ snooping, might as well own it.

Robby’s shoulders tightened. “He’s not out there.”

“He said he was going to get something for dinner.” Robby just fixed him with another silent, steely glare. God, how had he never noticed his kid is a dead ringer for James Dean? “I’ll be…” he nodded towards the living room, and Robby shifted, let him pass, before slamming the door to his room again.

Johnny found a bottle of red wine in a cabinet, hidden behind a bag of stale chips. He poured himself a glass as the loft’s lights came on with a whoosh, the microwave’s clock blinking midnight, the fridge whirring. He normally didn’t go for chick drinks like this, but he needed something to do with his hands. 

He walked over to the wide living room window, looked out at the dull gray buildings opposite. Every few seconds, he let his eyes slide to the fire escape to make sure Robby wasn’t hustling down it. 

He and Shan broke up for good when Robby was eighteen months old. (He thinks that means a year and a half, he never got why moms couldn’t just say their kids were one, no one should have to do math when looking at a baby.) They’d lived in a shitty, ground floor, studio apartment. The neighborhood made Shan nervous, despite Johnny’s insistence he’d kick the ass of anyone who broke in.

Robby didn't cry at the neighbors' loud fights or the gunshots or the sirens, though. They would've thought he was deaf if it wasn't for the way he loved music, or how much he _did_ wail when he was hungry and not being paid attention to. The dangerous world outside seemed to completely unable to phase him.

In fact, the night Johnny left, throwing his t-shirts and tennis shoes into a duffel while Shan cursed him out, face crimson from booze and screaming, Robby slept through the whole ordeal. Johnny remembers seeing him in his cheap plastic crib, just before he slammed the door behind him. He was so little, dark blonde hair curling over his ears, chubby fists held against his chin.

Already unshakable, bulling through like a soldier. Not like Johnny, who spent the first twelve years of his life shy and weak and terrified of everything.

 _He’ll be fine_ , Johnny remembers thinking, through the drunken rage clouding his mind. _He’s tough._

Robby came out of his room in sweats and a t-shirt that was a little too small, making his biceps look more muscular than they were. 

“See you found Mom’s secret stash.” He stood parallel to Johnny, but almost three feet away, looking out the other end of the window. 

Johnny shrugged, took a sip. “It’s not like she needs it anymore.”

“Yeah, ‘cause she’s braver than you.”

He just took another drink, stared determinedly at a delivery truck backing into a parking spot across the street. _He’s trying to get a rise out of you. Don’t take the bait. Breathe like LaRusso would._

“She wouldn’t send her weird priest friend to see me and spout shit about all the ‘demons you face’ like that’s the same thing as showing up.”

Johnny turned to look at him. Robby’s fists were balled at his sides, neck stiff with fury as he glared out the window. “I didn’t tell him to say that. That’s just how Bobby talks.” 

Nothing. Robby’s chest was rising and falling too fast. 

“You were named after him, you know.” Shan had been convinced he was going to be a girl, made a list full of Abigails and Kaylees and Jasmines. She let Johnny’s sole suggestion onto the list because they both assumed it would be irrelevant. _Robert_. It meant _glory._ It meant the best person Johnny had ever known, the hope that maybe his son would be more like his namesake than his crappy father.

Robby didn’t give a shit about any of that, though. His eyes were bright with rage. 

“Miguel needed...there was something I needed to do at the hospital.” He remembers Rosa’s hand tight around his, praying in a language he didn’t understand to a God he didn’t believe in, but was willing to put in the hours with just in case it helped.

Robby laughed, thin and hard, looking up at the ceiling. “Of course.”

Johnny blocked his punch without blinking, which only seemed to make him angrier. Robby swept his leg and he grabbed his shoulder to steady them both, but Robby barreled forward, knocking his head into Johnny's chest. The force sent them both crashing onto the wooden coffee table, which creaked warningly but somehow didn't break.

“Anyone up for pasta?” LaRusso was standing in the doorway, plastic grocery bags hanging off both arms. “I’m making Amatriciana sauce.”


	3. Chapter 3

Robby turned at the sound of Daniel's voice, and Johnny used the second of distraction to lock his arms around his back, holding him tight against his chest so he couldn't charge at him again. Robby thrashed, but he kept his grip easily.

He knew it wasn’t the time for the thought, but Jesus, they needed to work on strength training.

Daniel was on them both a second later, prying his arms away, pulling Robby back.

“Breathe, Robby, it’s okay.”

“Jesus, stop telling me to breathe, don't you have any other moves?” Robby wrestled out of Daniel’s grip and went to his room. This time, he didn’t slam the door, just closed it with a click. That somehow felt worse. 

Johnny sat up on the coffee table, which creaked unhappily under his weight. Daniel went back to pick his groceries off the floor and close the front door.

“What was that, some kind of screwy hug therapy?”

“Can it, LaRusso.” He’d spilled his wine on the rug, seeing a dark purple stain already setting in. See, this is why he stuck to beer, it dried clearer. 

Daniel started to unpack in the kitchen, laying out vegetables and little tubes of spices Johnny couldn’t name with a gun to his head. “Did you two talk or did you just go straight for the destruction of furniture?”

“We talked.” Johnny decided more wine was better than sitting around dangerously close to sober, and walked into the kitchen to refill. Loud pop-punk music blasted from Robby’s room; not enough to burst anybody’s eardrums, but close.

“Seems like it went great,” LaRusso shouted over the noise. 

Johnny poured himself another drink. “...the hell’s hug therapy, anyway?”

Daniel chuckled. “The school psychologist suggested it when Anthony was having some behavioral problems. You hug them, don't let go no matter how much they struggle, and repeat _I love you, I love you_ , over and over again.” He paused. “I can _hear_ you thinking something offensive.”

“Miguel says it’s okay as long as I don’t say it out loud.” Some kind of humiliation-rage welled in Johnny the longer he thought about the concept. When was the last time Robby even let him touch him in kindness?

He rolled up on Robby's soccer games three or four times during elementary school, hungover and wearing dark glasses, some half-formed idea of giving the kid pointers floating around his aching head. He’d been a pretty decent striker in high school, and it was easier to be around him and Shannon when there was an activity to distract them all, something to focus on besides gnawing guilt and anger. 

One blindingly sunny Saturday morning when Robby was six, he showed up just a few seconds before halftime, still woozy from the fifth of vodka he'd crushed, closing down the bar a block away from the park. As soon as the coach blew the whistle, Robby shot off the field like a bullet and into Johnny’s arms. 

“Dad! I assisted a goal! Coach told me not to pass unless the path was open but Lucas was right by the net so I did it anyway and he got it and we scored! Did you see me, Dad?”

“Good work, buddy,” he croaked, fuck, he was dehydrated, but those little arms were tight and warm around his neck, Robby’s glasses smushed up against his cheek, and for a second he felt so _normal._ Maybe he could do this, be a real dad, show up with orange slices and teach his kid how to be a winner and get hugged. 

The next week was the anniversary of his mom's death, so he spent all of Saturday getting fucked up at a Chile's. After he missed the game again the week after that, he figured Robby and Shan had written him off and he shouldn't make it messier by showing up again. 

Daniel’s phone glowed on the counter. A text from Amanda filled the screen. _good luck! Don’t kill J, you’re too pretty for prison_

“Ha, like you have the balls to take me out,” Johnny said. Daniel swatted him. 

“Get away, that’s private.”

Another text popped up. _let me know if you need any cash or groceries for Robby, i can drop them off with you tmrw_

“Yeah, really juicy stuff, Mandy’s bringing home the bacon, you're cooking it. It’s nice, you’re like a housewife,” he slapped LaRusso’s ass, just to be a jerk. 

Daniel jabbed him in the shoulder blade with his elbow. The sharp pain, followed by numbness down his arm made him stop joking around.

“LaRusso–”

“I just learned that,” he grinned. It faded fast, though, as Johnny shook feeling back down from his shoulder. “Listen, I want us to talk to Robby about his long term goals, and we’re not gonna be able to do that if you two are fighting like…” he paused, and Johnny knew he was trying to find another phrase for _like you and me_.

“He got out like two hours ago. Give him time to chill before you start interrogating him about his five-year plan.” 

Daniel shook his head. “Hey, I know Robby, he doesn’t do well with idle time. The faster we come up with next steps, for school, for the future, the less time he has to y’know, wander off course.”

 _I know Robby._ **_I_ ** _know him._ Smug bastard. Johnny swallowed too big a gulp of wine, choked down the hot spit that rose in his throat. 

“Shoving a list of demands in his face isn’t gonna go over smooth either, LaRusso. He’s got too much of me in him, remember?”

Daniel sighed, dropped his shoulders and he braced his hands on the counter. “I shouldn’t have said that. ”

Johnny reached over the counter and tossed a pinch of mozzarella into his mouth.“‘s true.” 

Daniel resumed dicing tomatoes, eyes dropping to the cutting board, the up-and-down motion of his knife. “Y’know, for weeks after he left–"

"After you kicked him out, you mean."

LaRusso's mouth tightened into a hard line, and then he continued like there hadn't been an interruption. "–I'd find Robby's stuff turning up all over my place. Know what he'd stashed all over the dojo, my house?”

“Weed?”

“Books.” Daniel’s eyebrows lifted, like he was still surprised himself. “My old ones about Okinawa, cheesy beach reads Sam left lying around, Amanda’s murder mysteries. Kid must’ve burned through fifty of them.”

Huh. He didn’t think he or Shan had ever read a book that wasn’t forced on them in high school. “Too smart for his own good.”

“Better than the alternative.” Daniel said. “He's got this great energy in him, it just needs to be focused. I still have hope we can turn this around.”

Sometimes he wondered if LaRusso’d been kicked in the head too many times. Even when he was a kid, richer and more comfortable than Daniel was even now, Johnny believed in survival and survival alone. Flourishing was for other people, those without the disease of being a Lawrence coursing through their veins. _Turning this around?_ How could he possibly be expected to provide a clean slate for his kid when he spent his whole life with his face in the dirt?

But LaRusso's kids. They had straight teeth and expensive shoes and learned to fight because it was fun. They had a dad who knew how to fill out medical forms and had hugged them in the last calendar year. If he and LaRusso played this right, maybe they could hide Robby among them, trick the universe into believing that he didn't have Johnny's fuck-up DNA in his angry eyes and bloody fingernails and was worth something brighter, deserved to take that shot even if the path wasn't totally clear.

“Just...dial back your "destiny and hope" schtick or you’ll spook him.”

"What happened to strike first?" Daniel smirked again, but softened when Johnny stared him down warningly. "Okay."

"Okay." He repeated, stupidly.

"Mmm, this is good.” Daniel poured himself a much smaller glass of the wine, swirled it around like one of those vineyard guys Johnny always forgot the name of. Somalians? 

“Yeah.” he managed. He needed to move, get the blood flowing and his mind quiet. He strode across the loft and threw open the door to Robby’s bedroom. He was lying on his back in bed, glaring up at the ceiling.

He jabbed random buttons on the black speaker on the dresser until the music cut off. “Hey. Up. LaRusso made dinner.”

* * *

The fancy pasta sauce was weird, too tangy for Johnny’s liking, but it was probably good to put something in his body to soak up the wine. LaRusso set the table and hooked his phone into some kind of music pipe to play an easy-listening station throughout the loft.

Which was good, because the three of them ate in dead silence for the first ten minutes of the meal, Robby at the head of the table, Johnny and Daniel awkwardly staring each other down across the sides. 

Minute eleven, Robby lifted his head and asked, “Are you two fucking or something?”

Johnny set down his fork too hard. “What the hell, Robby.”

Daniel, who heard just as bad out of Anthony on a weekly basis, took another sip of his wine, determinedly unfazed. “What makes you think that?”

Robby shrugged, moved his spaghetti around with his fork. _He doesn’t like the red sauce_ , Johnny realized. He hates it too, doesn't understand what's wrong with just putting butter and salt in spaghetti. “This is the longest I’ve seen you two together without fighting. Figured you must be getting the tension out somewhere else.”

Daniel actually laughed. “Sorry to disappoint.”

“Yeah, he wishes,” Johnny snorted. Across the table, LaRusso tilted his hand at him – _...what?_ – and he felt a hot flush in his cheeks. He poured a fresh glass of wine and decided to blame it on that. What was this, his sixth? He always let drinks that hid the alcohol taste pull the rug out from under him.

“So, Robby, I understand you got your GED while you were...inside?” Daniel seemed to panic on what the politically-sensitive word for _juvie_ was and blurted out the end of the sentence like a question. Johnny couldn’t fully choke down a second snort. For a split second, he saw Robby smirk too, before his face fell into familiar lines of glowering. 

“Yeah,” he said.

“That’s wonderful,” Daniel smiled. “It must be so exciting to be done. If you want, we can look into some colleges for next year, I know someone in admissions up at UC Santa Barbara–”

“Stop it.” Robby said, so quietly LaRusso didn’t hear him.

“–but if that’s too far, there are some great community colleges here in LA, and the price–”

“Mr. LaRusso, _stop._ ” Sharper now. “You always do this, dangle these prizes in front of me until I piss you off, then take them away. Let’s just skip the middle step, okay?”

All the blood seemed to drain out of Daniel’s face. 

“I need to get solution for my contacts,” Robby said, pushing back his chair. “I’m out.”

“Eat!” Johnny barked, on reflex. “We’ll get it tomorrow.” 

“Fine. Then I’m going to bed.”

“Robby, I’m sorry,” Daniel said. It came out so plaintive and small Johnny almost felt embarrassed for him. 

“Yeah.” Robby rolled his eyes. “Where have I heard that before?”

“Hey,” Johnny said. “Whatever issues you have with me, LaRusso’s trying to throw you a lifeline here. Don’t be a moron.”

Robby’s jaw tightened, eyes narrowing nearly to slits as he regarded his father, then Daniel. 

“Why would I want to waste my time sitting in class with a bunch of rich kids who have no idea how the real world works? So one day I can sell them cars?”

“I actually never went to college,” Daniel said. His voice was still much softer than normal, like Robby’d punched in his voicebox. “And I’m assuming your dad didn’t either.”

Johnny glared at him. “One and a half semesters at LA Valley Community, LaRusso, count ‘em.” Would’ve been more, if they hadn’t been such babies about the explosion in his Chem 101 class.

“Oh, excuse me, I had no idea you were so learned.” 

“It’s learned, not _learn-ned_ , you moron.” 

“Maybe I will go, if it’ll keep me from ending up like you two.”

For a second, they were both silent, more stunned than hurt. Robby turned again to retreat. 

“What–what do you like?” It sounded pathetic coming out of Johnny’s mouth. “I mean, to study. I don’t know, computers don’t seem like they’re going away, maybe something to do with that?”

“Jesus, Johnny.” Daniel’s voice was still quiet, but he was starting to get some color back into his olive skin. 

Robby shrugged one shoulder. His hands were on the back of his chair, like he couldn’t decide if he wanted to sit back down or not. He was _starving,_ Johnny recognized the aching look in his eyes from seeing it in the mirror. 

“What about English?” Daniel said. “I know you like to read.”

“Please, what kind of job is he gonna get with a degree like that?”

“All the brochures say that strong communication skills are vital in any industry,” Daniel said primly, getting another glass of wine. They’d almost killed the bottle. Johnny wasn't worried, if he knew Shan, there were at least three more in the cabinets. 

"So you admit you got no clue what kind of job would hire someone to talk about _Huck Finn_ all day."

They were both so caught up in their sniping that they barely registered Robby sitting back down, digging the plain pasta out from under the sauce to shovel in his mouth.


	4. Chapter 4

Robby finished his plain dinner without saying more than ten words. His sock-covered feet bounced against the floor as LaRusso jabbered on and on about FAFSA loans and if there was a Target nearby, they could meet up with Amanda tomorrow morning and get him some new clothes, and would he maybe visit his mom at Malibu Canyon this weekend? If the little motormouth was aware he was carrying the entire conversation by himself, he didn't show it in his face.

Johnny, to the surprise of no one, was drunk.

Not blackout, not “call Jimmy at 3 AM swearing and teary and end up scaring his wife”, not angry and kicking. But drunk. Heavy-limbed, mellow. The good kind, with settled skin, a slight tinge of hilarity in everything around him.

That it was off a bottle and a half of wine like some bachelorette was a little unusual and very embarrassing. That LaRusso, face flushing darker by the minute, seemed to be right there with him, was just _next level_.

He slipped twice while clearing away the dishes, and didn't object when Johnny offered Robby some of the bottle. He was glad LaRusso was chilling out. The kid deserved to unwind on his first night of freedom.

When Robby declined even a sip and went to brush his teeth, he somehow found himself even gladder.

“We should watch a movie!” LaRusso exclaimed, hanging onto the kitchen counter, eyes bright. “Robby, you ever seen _Field of Dreams?_ Every man should have to watch it, by law.”

Without thinking, Johnny shared a sideways glance with Robby, whose mouth twisted in a losing battle to stop smirking. 

“Are you going to be here in the morning?” He asked. His eyes jumped the empty space by the stove, so Johnny couldn’t tell which of them he was asking.

“Look at him, he gets in a car he’ll put someone in the hospital.” Shit. He cringed in the silence that followed.

Robby swallowed, cradled his elbows in the opposite hands. “I’m tired, I’m gonna...goodnight, Mr. LaRusso.” He turned and nodded curtly to Johnny.

“You sure? It’s not even eight.” But Robby just slipped behind the closed door like he hadn’t heard him.

“Can’t believe he’s never seen _Field of Dreams_ ,” Daniel muttered, clumsily dropping plates into the sink. One shattered, which made manic laughter bubble up in Johnny’s throat for some reason. 

“Seriously, if you need to go, I’ll watch your car. Just call one of those, um, Loopers,” 

“Loopers?”

He waved his hand in the air, trying in vain to remember the app Miguel used. “The thing that takes you to your house, it’s like a taxi but it’s just some guy."

Daniel squinted. “Are you trying to say _Uber_?”

Johnny shrugged, sitting down on the couch as LaRusso took a turn to cackle. His face felt red. He didn’t like being laughed at. 

He wasn't annoyed LaRusso was staying, though. Embarrassed, maybe, at how relieved he felt at the idea of a buffer between him and his son, a distraction when he said the wrong thing, _again_.

Daniel plopped down next to him, setting two fresh glasses of wine – white this time – in front of them. Well, if he was offering. “‘m gonna crash on the couch or something. Wanna be here when Johnny wakes up.”

" _I’m_ Johnny.”

“Oh, right,” Daniel examined his glass and stood up. “Maybe I should have some water first.”

Shannon’s TV didn’t have Netflix or even a DVR, so LaRusso’s baseball movie dreams were nixed. They ended up channel surfing while Daniel chugged a glass of water, steadying a little, before switching back to wine. They were on some disgusting Chardonnay now, so sugary it tasted like grape juice.

“Oh, let’s watch this, they wrestle alligators, it’s totally bad-ass.” Johnny stopped on Animal Planet. LaRusso made a disgusted face at the sight of the bloody rabbit carcasses the host was throwing into the water to entice the beast, and changed the channel. What a baby.

“Think he’s doing okay?” He asked as they flipped past the news, a _Friends_ rerun. It took Johnny a second to realize he was talking about Robby. 

“Well as can be expected. I’m glad he’s getting some sleep.”

“I feel like such an asshole, pushing all that college stuff on him. He’s right, I lashed out at him so many times before, he has every right to distrust me.”

The TV landed on _Top Gun;_ only ten minutes in. They both agreed on it, silently, with lit-up eyes. 

“Look, you hold you and everybody else to an insanely high standard,” Johnny said, taking care to look at the planes flying into the sunset, and not at LaRusso. “But people fuck up. _Kids_ fuck up. Life kicks us in the dick enough as it is. You have to learn to let other people off the hook sometimes.”

“ _Sometimes._ ” Daniel replied. “But you can’t just shrug and open a beer every time something goes wrong, either. The real world has consequences.”

Johnny made a fist against his leg. Thought about Miguel in his hospital bed, Kreese in his dojo. “I know."

“I want to help him through this in a way that won’t lead to even more of them.”

“I know. And I get that.”

“With the age he’s at, everything’s so precarious–”

“LaRusso, I’m agreeing with you.”

“Oh.” Daniel paused for air. Johnny picked up his wine, rolled the stem of the glass in between his fingers.

“Just-look, if I promise to be a little more of a hardass about him getting into fights or whatever, will you get off his back?”

“Balance it out.” LaRusso said, eyes on Tom Cruise. 

“I’ll deny I ever said this, but you’re the best thing that could’ve happened to him,” Johnny muttered. “He needs you in his corner. You have to stay there this time.”

“I will.”

“I’m serious.”

“Johnny.” A smiled played on those pink lips. “I’m agreeing with you.”

They watched the movie for a while in silence. The wine was making Johnny drowsy. He thought about the green footie pajamas with airplanes on them Robby wore as a baby. A gift from Laura, right before she died. 

Shannon had only been a few months along, and spilled the beans despite Johnny telling her repeatedly it would cause nothing but pain for his mom and shit about how the family had did nothing but pump out bastards from Sid. 

_We need the money_ , she’d snapped at him, and he’d been so mad he broke the frame of their bed and went on a bender for two days. Laura called him to the house not long after, skinny and weak from the chemotherapy, an Hermes scarf wrapped around her bald head. Without much ceremony, she handed over the PJs in a blue tissue paper bag.

“Mom, it could be a girl,” he mumbled. He couldn’t even look at her, because it wasn't fair, her whole life had been things happening too early, getting knocked up with Johnny when she was only nineteen, getting shackled to Sid at twenty-five. And now it was ending at fifty, before she even had a chance to meet the only grandchild she’d ever get. 

“Girls like planes too.” She said. When he didn’t smile, she wrapped a brittle arm around his shoulders. “Baby, I know it’s a lot. I was scared out of my mind when I had you.”

“You were a kid. I’m thirty-two, I should be able to handle this–but I–I’m not like you. I can’t do this.”

“You can. You will.” She leaned up to kiss his temple. “You have to.”

She was wrong. When it came time to sink or swim, Johnny drowned. 

Back to the present. Laura long gone, Robby grown far too big for pajamas and airplanes. Iceman was snapping his teeth on TV. 

He put his head on LaRusso’s shoulder without realizing he was doing it; when he came to his senses, a few seconds had already passed, too long to pretend it was just a drunken sway, and all the muscles in his face cringed. 

This was worse than when he clung to Bobby’s side at the church a few weeks back; when did he become the kind of drunk who got _cuddly_?

He was pathetic, playing pretend. His kid asleep in the other room, curled up in front of bad TV with a nice buzz going. Another warm body next to him, like he was a normal parent with a real life, like he’d earned that.

Johnny turned his head to look up at LaRusso, make a joke or apologize or say something dickish, anything to break the tension, but instead his nose bumped against Daniel’s, who had tilted his head down to meet his gaze. He didn’t look annoyed or uncomfortable. Just calm. Regarding him.

“La-”

Daniel kissed him gently, closed-mouth, long eyelashes dusting his cheek. A feeling like a balloon full of helium rose from the pit of Johnny’s stomach up through his chest, bursting.

Then, just as quickly, LaRusso stopped, pulling back. He held both hands up like he was being robbed. 

“Whoops.”

“Shit,” Johnny’s face was _flaming_ , he could probably fry an egg on it if he tried. He scrambled to sit upright on the coach, farther against the arm rest. 

Daniel laughed, too hearty and forced. “Probably should’ve had another glass of water,”

“Yeah, you do that, LaRusso,” he nodded gruffly, staring down at his hands.

Daniel leaned over and put the wine glass down on the coffee table, but didn’t sit back up. Instead, he braced his hands on both knees of his slacks, hunched forward, trying to breathe.

“I like your wife,” Johnny said, because he was drunk and he did. Amanda was full of snark and repressed rage. She was super hot, in a vice president of a pharmaceutical company kind of way. And she was too stand-up a lady to get cheated on. He’s not sure if it counted, though, if it was gay. Not that he was...that. 

_Sure, plenty of straight guys feel like glitter is exploding in their gut when LaRusso kisses them._

Daniel turned his head, eyes stony and full of warning. “Don’t–”

“For her sake, I’m not gonna tell her you did that.”

“Sorry. ‘s just…” Daniel’s shoulders slumped, and his breath came a little more fluidly. He mumbled something into his chest that Johnny didn’t catch.

“What?”

“You just looked handsome,” Daniel repeated, much louder, too loud, and Johnny felt his knees lock as they both waited for a sign that Robby had heard that. He knew they should’ve stuck with the alligator wrestling, the screams would’ve covered everything. 

LaRusso’s dark hair was getting longer, moving in soft waves and cowlicks, like it did in high school. Johnny watched his long, slim fingers reach up and push it back from his face. The gold of his wedding ring glinted in the light of the TV.

His feet were planted hard and flat on the floor. Standing his ground, even while tipsy. Ready to get hit.

“Thank you,” it came out in a whisper. 

His face was never going to cool down again. 

“Fuck it,” he leaned over, grabbed LaRusso’s hips, and hauled him into his lap. Daniel’s bad knee knocked against the arm rest. He put both hands flat on Johnny’s chest to steady himself. 

“John–” Johnny kissed him hard, the acidic taste the wine left in his mouth almost making him dizzy. LaRusso shifted, knees sinking into the cushions on either side of Johnny’s hips, before pulling back again.

“Are you–” 

“Rocky and Apollo?” He asked, trying not to let the timbre of his voice sound so hopeful.

Daniel exhaled, looked up at the ceiling as if it could help him come to a decision about this. It felt like ten seconds, then an hour. Just as Johnny was about to push him off and bolt for the hills, LaRusso ground against his crotch, dropping his mouth to Johnny’s ear.

“One time, and one time only.”


	5. Chapter 5

It had been a long time since Johnny made out with anyone on the coach. 

Like, _years._ A vague memory of Shan, light in his lap, long blonde hair falling across his chest as she kissed his neck with sangria-stained lips. Wait, that actually might have been Ali. They were getting mixed up in his drunk brain. Huh, did he only ever sleep with blondes? 

Well. Clearly not.

LaRusso was anything but light on top of him, pushing down like, if he gave an inch, Johnny would knock him on his back, fighting for air. Old habits die hard. 

Or maybe he convinced himself this was just another way of fighting, in order to live with the choice. 

He ground against Johnny’s cock like a stripper, one hand cupping his jaw when he kissed him, the other with a hard grip laced through his hair. LaRusso’s own hard-on bumped against the bottom of Johnny’s stomach, and Johnny dimly wondered what moron invented jeans and boxers and all the other useless layers separating them. 

“Jesus, you little freak,” he gasped into Daniel’s mouth, and put a heavy hand on the small of his back, pulling him in closer.

“Shut up, Johnny.”

They moved like that for a while, just kissing and rubbing, slotting their knees in between each other's legs to dry hump like teenagers, skin getting sensitive and flushed and hot to the touch. Johnny got his hands on LaRuss's ass, squeezing him through the fabric, enjoying the way it made the slide and give of their hips and dicks get a little more urgent.

LaRusso worked his way out of his jacket, his button-up, down to the cotton t-shirt that Johnny saw the lines of his body moving under.

He slid his hand up LaRusso’s spine, grabbed the neck of the shirt to pull it off, over his head.

“Lemme–”

Daniel lurched sideways, taking Johnny down with him, so they ended up horizontal and face-to-face, smushed on their sides on the narrow expanse of the couch. Daniel caught hold of Johnny’s wrists and pinned them against the cushion above his head.

Johnny inhaled sharply, tried to stop himself from squirming, but found himself a little too drunk for that kind of control.

LaRusso’s dark eyes filled with bright glee. “I _knew_ it.”

Crap. Point LaRusso.

He’d always had a thing for getting held down; that’s why he had to get so good at fighting, so no one ever had the chance to flip him when he was a hormonal teenager and expose him for the little bitch he was. Johnny always tried to reason with himself that he’s much stronger than anyone he sleeps with, that he could throw them off easily if he really wanted to, he just doesn't.

He’s not sure if that makes it better or worse. 

Daniel shifted, gripped both of Johnny’s wrists in one hand – god, when had LaRusso stopped being so tiny and pretty and _shit,_ he thought LaRusso was _pretty? How long you been ignoring that one, brain?_ – and unbuttoned his own pants, pulled the zipper on Johnny’s jeans down, bunching their underwear around their thighs. 

Johnny pressed forward, desperate to get some friction on his aching cock, ready to rut against LaRusso’s leg like a dog if he needed to. 

Daniel’s busy hand was in his face before he could get much of anything done. He brushed his fingers against Johnny’s lips, pushing them into his mouth.

“Get them wet,” he mumbles.

Oh. Oh _fuck_ , did LaRusso want to put his–Johnny needed a bed for that, and all the lights turned off, and maybe six more drinks. 

“No?” The way his heart thumped in his chest must’ve shown on his face, because Daniel took his hand away and kissed him softly again. On the mouth, then the forehead, above his left eyebrow. “That’s okay, relax.”

“I’m very relaxed,” Johnny snapped. Red spots bloomed on his cheeks, his collarbone. Daniel licked the palm of his own hand, looking up at him from under heavy-lidded eyelids like he wanted to eat Johnny alive, and he sort of forgets how to argue after that.

“Let’s try the white belt version, then.” 

"Fuck _yo-u_." Johnny choked, hips jerking gracelessly as LaRusso wrapped his damp hand around both their dicks, wrist moving up and down a few times as they rubbed together. Johnny pressed his forehead into Daniel’s neck, feeling the movement get more fluid, precum making everything glide a little more easily.

“Legs up, keep them tight,” LaRusso said, and lightly slapped him in the ribs when Johnny stiffened again. “Calm down, I’m not gonna sneak attack.” He took his hand away, tucked them under both of Johnny’s thighs, and hitched him up.

Johnny's nose bumped against his chin, and he looks at the tendons in Daniel's neck, because it's too much to see his eyes, right now.

"I'd kick your ass before you got the chance." He wished it didn't come out so breathy and small.

“I’m gonna make you feel so good.”

And the stupidest thing was, Johnny believed him.

He wrapped his legs around LaRusso’s waist, grateful he’s started stretching again in the past year. Tried not to cling to him as Daniel slides the length of his cock between his cheeks, rubs back and forth against his entrance.

"O-oh." Johnny spasmed a little. The friction, fast and steady, against his asshole, the very tops of his thighs, brushing against his balls, was dizzying, overwhelming. He got it, suddenly, in a way his few terrified fumbles with fingers never even brought him close to understanding. It wasn't an invasion. It was a fucking _party_.

“God, John,” Daniel’s hand was back around Johnny’s cock, moving faster now. Trying to bring him off in time with his own thrusts, like the control freak he is. “You feel so good. You’re doing so good.”

He leaned forward and bit LaRusso’s shoulder without meaning to, just to hang on, somehow. Through his t-shirt, didn't even break the skin, but Daniel hissed anyway, and came with a shudder, all over the back of Johnny’s legs.

Little freak.

“Shit,” Daniel gasped, seeming to realize a second too late the mess he made, but Johnny just tightened his legs, holding him in place, mouth moving up his neck, nipping at the underside of his jaw. 

“Keep going.”

LaRusso’s movements got limp and a little disoriented, but Johnny came a minute later anyway, ass feeling raw and cum drying sticky on Shan’s cheap imitation leather couch and his jeans and in LaRusso's hand.

Daniel kissing him like he’s the last source of oxygen on Earth.

They both took a second to catch their breath. Johnny lazily wrapped his arm around Daniel’s back, let his legs relax and loosely hook together somewhere around the back of LaRusso’s knees.

“I don’t remember that part of _Rocky III_ ,” he blurted out, because he never knew what to say after sex besides _fuck_ or awkward laughter.

LaRusso leaned his head into the crook of Johnny’s arm. “It was in the director’s cut.”

Johnny did laugh then, and a moment later, Daniel joined him.

“Oh man,” LaRusso sat up. “We really did it this time.”

Johnny hummed in agreement. Had he just hooked up with a _guy?_ With _LaRusso?_ He put his head on Daniel’s lap, cheek against the navy boxer briefs hastily pulled back up. It’d be so easy, to tilt his nose, mouth LaRusso’s dick through the fabric. 

For approximately the five millionth time in his life, he wished he was still seventeen, could go four times in one night. 

Daniel carded his fingers through his hair. “I gotta find the cleaning supplies, I’m not explaining any stains on this couch to Shannon when she gets back.”

“Say she did it, she'll believe you, she was way too plastered to remember half the time.”

The hand left his head. “Charming. Seriously, get up.”

Johnny groaned, but acquiesced. He tucked himself back into his pants and watched LaRusso flit around the kitchen like a hummingbird, finding all-purpose cleaner and a dishrag. He stood up, hands awkwardly shoved into his pockets, as Daniel got on his knees in front of the couch, cleaning up the evidence like a criminal.

“Does...does she know you’re like this? That you...like guys?”

“Shannon? No, it didn’t come up during the drive to rehab.” LaRusso scrubbed too hard, the muscles in his back tightening up as he came down from his orgasm. 

“LaRusso.”

“Yes.” He sat back on his heels. “Of course she does, she’s my wife.”

Johnny wondered how he’d feel, if Shan or Ali or Carmen told him they were into babes too. What they would do if they found out about _him._

God, now he _really_ wished he could get off again. 

He settled for adjusting himself through his pants. “So it’s not that big a deal, right?”

Daniel slammed the paper towel roll down on the ground next to him. “Why don’t you check on Robby?”

Johnny rolled his eyes. “He’s not a baby, it’s not like he needs to be changed.”

“ _Johnny_.” His voice was tight. “Give me a minute.”

The credits for _Top Gun_ were rolling on TV. Johnny listened to “Danger Zone” play as he went to the bathroom. He washed his hands, splashed some water in his face and cleaned it off with a rough green hand towel. 

He looked the same. He didn’t know what he was expecting, some stamp on his forehead that said _Part Time Faggot_ or something. His hair stuck up, and when he tried to settle it with the towel, it just bent into weirder angles.

In the mirror, he saw the hallway, Robby’s closed, dark door. His first day sleeping in a room alone, he probably didn’t want to be bothered. 

But it would just take a second. If he was sleeping or smoking weed, Johnny wouldn’t care, and after the day they’d had, Robby probably wouldn’t be in the mood for jacking off. Not like his weird, slutty, apparently gayish dad. Was _he_ freaking out a little now? Was LaRusso's panic contagious? 

“Robby?” He didn’t knock so much as press his knuckles against the door. “Buddy, you awake?”

No response. He cracked open the door, his eyes taking a second to adjust to the darkness.

The bed, neat as a soldier’s, was empty. The window out onto the fire escape window was opened, screen pushed up.


	6. Chapter 6

“Don’t panic, he can’t’ve gone far,” Daniel closed the door to Shannon’s bedroom, completing his own little sweep of the house. It irked Johnny, that LaRusso had to confirm with his own eyes Robby wasn’t in the house. 

Like he couldn’t trust him.

“He went in there two _hours_ ago.” Johnny said. “He could be in Mexico by now.”

“He’s not in Mexico. He doesn't even have a passport."

Johnny scoffed. "Neither do I, I've been to Tijuana three times."

“ _John._ ” Daniel took out his phone. “I’m gonna check his Instagram, see if he posted anything, we can track him by the tags.” 

He scrolled fast through the photo grid while Johnny stood a few feet behind him, squinting over his shoulder. Nothing new, since before he went to juvie. The last pictures were of Sam doing a handstand in the Miyagi-Do backyard, Anthony diving into the pool, Amanda and Daniel making sushi in the LaRusso’s kitchen.

“Did he maybe go to _your_ house?” Johnny pointed at the photos.

“Maybe if I hadn’t screwed up so much.” Daniel pocketed the phone, then shook his head. "No. She...Amanda would've called."

Johnny suddenly needed to look anywhere but at him. He glanced around the room. No phone, Vans gone. 

So were the knee pads and board on his shelf.

“Hey, use that thing to find the nearest skate park.”

* * *

LaRusso kept doing his breathing exercises as he drove, like a chick giving birth. In and out, mouth open like an idiot. 

“Christ, you one of those asthma dorks now?”

“I had a lot to drink,” Daniel said. “I’m trying to focus up here.”

God, he _was_ drunk. Making all the classic mistakes too, driving too slow instead of too fast, arms locked rigid and straight like he was pushing the wheel as far away from his body as he could. 

“Want me to–”

“No, I’m still the best chance of us not ending up in a body bag,” Daniel snapped, so harshly that Johnny actually sat back in his seat, head thudding against the rest. “I’m sorry. I didn’t...I’m sorry.”

Johnny leaned forward and turned on the radio, still playing top 40. “Hey what–”

“106.7, it’s preset 2,” Daniel said. “Classic rock.”

The sound of Journey filled the car. _Someday love will find you, break those chains that bind you..._

“It’s not the first time I’ve done this,” Daniel said, eyes locked on the road. Away from the freeway, the lights of LA, only his headlights striped the darkness in front of them. “I– we– Amanda and I, we’ve had threeways.”

Johnny was suddenly very glad he wasn't the one driving, because he’d've plowed them right into the delivery van in front of them. “Congratulations,” he managed.

“Not in years, God knows it’s hard enough finding time for just the two of us, with the kids and the dealership, but we have, with, um, a friend of hers from college.” His grip tightened around the wheel. His next sentence is barely a whisper. “She liked it, seeing me with another guy.”

_One night will remind you, how we touched and went our separate ways..._

Johnny turns his over in his head. “Do you _want_ to tell her what we did?” It kind of sounded like he did.

“I don’t know.”

“Because if she’s into it, I don’t know what you’re being such an asshole to me about.”

“There is a difference, _Johnny_ ,” and there’s that smug voice again. The urge to punch LaRusso itched at his fingertips. “Between a mutually discussed and agreed upon threesome, and me getting drunk and jerking off all over my high school bully.”

“It wasn’t _all_ over me,” Johnny tried lamely, as they pulled into the parking lot of the skatepark, the only car there.

_Troubled times, caught between confusion and pain, pain, pain..._

LaRusso overshot the curb, and with a grinding, a hiss, they both felt the front left tire rip open, the frame of the car sinking lopsided to the ground. 

“God _dammit!”_ He smacked his palm against the steering wheel, so mad and wild-eyed he looked like a kid again, seventeen and on the razor’s edge.

Johnny saw a shape in the dark, riding up and down the bowl at the center of the park. He wasn’t doing any tricks, just getting more air every time, then dropping gracefully back down into the pit. The shadow had floppy hair pulling away from his face, every time he hit the peak.

“You stay here.” Johnny told Daniel. "And calm the fuck down."

“No way, he–”

“Put on the spare tire. Take a Xanax, or maybe nine.”

“I didn't mean to lose my temper. I'm just spinning a little.”

"No shit."

Daniel swallowed, dropped his shoulders. “I’m calm.”

“Yeah, and I’m sober.” Johnny looked over his shoulder to make sure Robby wasn’t turned towards the car, and leaned over, kissed him quick, hard enough to hurt. “Get off the rag by the time I come back, LaRusso.”

“You don’t exit cars like that!” Daniel yelled.

"You love it!" Johnny slammed the door, and set to work climbing over the fence into the park.

* * *

He knew Robby saw him make his way down the steps and to the edge of the bowl; he tucked his head, deliberately glaring at the ground in front of him.

“You’re pretty good.” He said. Robby just skated by him. “I never learned how to ride, my…” he tightened his jaw. “My Sensei forbid all of us from trying, said it was a one-way ticket to breaking a leg.”

Robby skated up to the lip, kicking his board up and stepping onto the concrete next to him. “Sounds like a dick.”

Johnny chuckled ruefully. “Yeah. He was.”

“So did you follow me? Or did Mr. LaRusso put a chip in my shoe?”

“I saw your gear was gone. I do notice _some_ things about you.”

“Yeah, father of the year, asshole.”

“ _Hey_.” It came out with too much bite, and Robby’s eyes glinted, excited he’d finally got a reaction. “Look, if you need to blow off steam that’s fine, but you can’t just disappear. LaRusso was ready to call the cops, that's how you blow your parole.”

"Like you care."

"I do, actually. We both do."

“So you’re just going to stalk me until you both get bored?”

“Or until you turn eighteen.” A stupid joke; he realized that when Robby lunged at him, punched him hard in the throat. “Jesus, Rob–”

Pain exploded across his face. He reached up to touch his nose and felt blood, flesh turned the wrong way. Broken.

Another hit came, driving into his stomach, and he didn't move. Robby hit him, again, and again, and again, and he let him. 

Robby reared back, knuckles bleeding in the moonlight, and struck the hardest blow yet, like he was trying to rip a hole through Johnny. Enough to rock him back on his heel, but leaving more than enough time to straighten himself out.

But Johnny didn’t bother. 

Just let himself fall.

The side of the bowl scraped against his bare arm as he tumbled over the lip and down onto the concrete, leaving a brownish-red splotch of blood the stone. 

His vision went blurry when his head hit the bottom of the basin, the wind knocking out of him. When it cleared, Robby was standing over him.

“Dad?”

“‘m fine,” he tried to sit up, but it just made him dizzier, and back down he went. Robby's hands were under his armpits, dragging him into slump against the curve. 

“You have a concussion?” Robby still loomed overhead, limbs locked, as Johnny tried to catch his breath.

“I’m _fine_.” His vision was coming back, only a little spotty. As for his nose and arm, they’d seen worse. 

“Is this why you like Miguel more than me? Because he’s not a violent piece of shit?” He must've really busted his head, because that couldn't be a _waver_ in Robby's voice, the final vocal buckle before tears.

Johnny rubbed his eyes in a vain attempt to clear things up. “I don’t like–”

“You do. Just fucking admit it.”

"It's not that I like him more."

"Stop fucking _lying!"_

Johnny sighed, looked up at the sky. The LA light pollution blocked out almost everything, but he could still see a couple of stars. Or maybe they were just planes coming into Burbank. 

“It’s just easier, with him,” he admitted. 

Miguel was a happy kid, smiley, knew down to his DNA that he was loved. A mom that made sure he did his homework and felt his forehead for a fever. A grandma who prayed over him and took him to Dodgers games. He liked Johnny, sure, maybe even loved him. But he didn’t _need_ him. 

“It’s easier.” Robby repeated with no inflection.

“Yeah. When I’m with Diaz, we’re just hanging out. I’m not thinking about all the ways I fucked up, let him down.” He scratched the side of his throat. _Well, until recently._ "I'm not his dad, I'm just me."

Robby smacked the back of his heel against the side of the bowl. “It was kind of like that with Mr. LaRusso. He was just...there.”

Johnny told himself the hard lump in his throat was just from one of Robby’s punches. “He still is.”

Robby shook his head. “Nah. Not like…” 

He kicked again, and the echo reverberated through the night. Johnny put his hands down flat on concrete between his legs. 

“I’m sorry you didn’t have that,” he said. “I’m sorry I’m what you got stuck with.”

Robby nodded, jaw tight. 

Johnny didn’t meet Robby until he was almost a month old. 

When he finally sobered up enough to try, Shan’s mother barred him from coming into the apartment, eyes hateful. _Haven’t you done enough damage._ Every time he called, she claimed Shan was sleeping or out.

She had to go back to Ohio eventually, though. Her minimum-wage job didn’t give her any more leeway than her daughter’s, or Johnny’s. So one day Johnny came back to the apartment with a bag of Doritos, because he had no idea what the hell you were supposed to bring to meet your kid, and Shannon actually let him in.

“I–”

“Just take him,” Shannon said, exhausted and brittle-voiced, and before Johnny knew what was happening she’d pushed a tiny bundle into his arms and walked down the hall to take a shower.

And there was Robby. A tiny crescent mark on his cheek where he’d scratched his little red face. Johnny sat down on the floor with a thud. He could balance Robby’s entire body on his forearm.

He thinks he might’ve actually said _holy shit._

Too small, impossibly so, hair so blonde he didn’t seem to have any eyebrows. His eyes were giant, blinking up at Johnny like he was interesting, or important. They weren’t brown, like Shan’s. They were blue.

_There’s no way I made something this perfect._

“Hey, kid,” he was all he managed, because his own eyes were starting to feel wet and if there’s one thing he knew to be true in life, it was that crying was for pussies.

Sitting bloody and broken in a skatepark, for the first time, Johnny sees it. The resemblance. In the way he holds his head up when he’s trying not to cry, the line of his shoulders, his balled up fists. 

For better or worse, he made this.

“And for the record, I’ve never been _bored_ of you. That’s not why I wasn’t around, when you were little. That was me getting caught up in my own bullshit. It’s got nothing to do with you.” 

Robby sighed. “So what? You’re gonna change? You got my back? We really have to cycle through your greatest hits again?”

Johnny shrugged. “We had a good day, back before you went in. Today wasn't our worst, either. Your mom is gonna get out of rehab soon. You’ve got your room at her place, Daniel’s got the bills covered until she’s back on her feet. And I’m just. Here. If you want to see how many more good days we can string together.” Robby tilted his head, smirked. “What?”

“You called him Daniel.”

“That’s his name, isn’t it?” Johnny wiped his blood off on the sleeve of his hoodie, wincing. “Christ, I think you pushed the cartilage back into my brain.”

“Yeah, well.” _You deserve it._

“And here I was worried you needed more strength training.”

Robby sat down, wrapping his arms around his knees. “I don’t know if I’m gonna do karate anymore.”

“Oh.”

“So if that’s why you and Mr. LaRusso showed up this morning–”

He reached out in front of Robby’s chest, then twitched, not brave enough to pull him in. Tentatively, he settled for putting a bruised arm around his shoulders.

Robby sighed, let his chin drop.

“I’m sorry, kid. For everything. I’m so sorry.” LaRusso’s stupid talk about his annoying kid’s therapy bounced around his head. _I love you. I love you. I love you._

“Yeah.” Robby said. “I know you are.”

He’s not sure quite how long they sat there, watching the moon move across the sky. Johnny’s head ached worse and worse, from dehydration and blunt force trauma. Robby's eyes were upturned, reflecting the light. His breathing evened out, low and smooth in the warm night air.

Twenty, maybe thirty minutes later, the sound was joined by another one; tires rolling on gravel. They both turned their heads back towards the lot. Daniel sat cross-legged on the hood of his own crooked car, as another pulled up right beside it. Johnny couldn’t be sure in the darkness, but he thought it looked like a LaRusso Lexus. 

Amanda got out, in yoga pants and a Pepperdine sweatshirt and hair that looked like she'd been pulled out of bed mid-snore. Daniel reached out without getting up, pulling her in close, bumping her knees against the side of his car. Johnny and Robby watched as he bowed his head against her stomach. 


	7. Epilogue

** Epilogue **

On the end of the second good day, in the warm darkness of the skate park, Amanda changes the busted tire and loads Daniel into her own car, taking them both back to Encino. Johnny, concussed and twisted-up inside, waits on the other side of the fence with Robby until they leave, like a huge pussy. 

Then he tries, woozy, to get into LaRusso’s car, but Robby takes the keys – a little too practiced at wrestling them from an incapacitated parent – and drives them, wobbling on the donut, back to Shan’s loft. Johnny’s blood staining the leather seats, Robby’s skateboard between his legs, clattering when they go over a pothole.

* * *

On the third good day, he makes frozen Eggo waffles for breakfast, since Shan didn’t leave any bologna in the house. It’s just as well, Robby eats them plain, like crackers, doesn’t even like syrup on them. Johnny drops him at Goodwill to buy some new clothes and goes into the free clinic on the other end of the strip mall to get his busted nose reset. 

Robby's eyes flick up to the bandages when they meet back at the car, but he doesn't say anything. Johnny tosses him his own threadbare red hoodie, something to grow into. 

They go see his parole officer, some chick named Tiffani whose hair is pulled back so tight it stretches the skin on her forehead. She makes Johnny fill out approximately one hundred thousand forms about where Robby lives, GED documentation, how he has five days to secure and produce proof of a part time job.

“It’s good you’re here,” she says off-handedly, looking in a folder as they leave. “When the kids have a family, it’s easier for them to make it.”

In the parking lot, Johnny blurts out that he doesn’t think POs should have stripper names and Robby agrees. 

Later, while Robby is listening to music and smoking weed in his bedroom, Johnny dials the LaRusso’ home phone number five times, but never actually calls. Then he remembers Robby has a drug test on Friday, takes the joint out of his hand and smokes it himself, which leads to an entire night of sulking and Johnny eating way too many chips. The pot helps with the aches and bruises, but he can still feel Daniel’s hands on his thighs.

* * *

The fourth good day almost isn’t one. 

They make plans to go to see Shan in rehab. It rains, the first time in five and a half months. It rains so hard there’s a three car pile-up on the freeway, because no one in this goddamn state remembers how to drive when it’s not 75 and sunny. They're tied up in traffic for two hours before Johnny decides to call it and take them home. Robby says it’s not that bad and he’s being an asshole who is deliberately avoiding his ex. Johnny tells him _he’s_ the asshole, and they end up shoving each other until they fall into the mud and miss visiting hours.

Robby locks himself in the bathroom when they get back to the loft and showers for so long all the hot water is gone. 

Johnny calls LaRusso, and Amanda picks up.

Her voice isn’t angry, or full of tears, or any way that says _you slept with my husband and now I’m going to sneak into your bedroom in the middle of the night and cut your balls off with a circular saw._ She just sounds like Amanda. She tells them to come over for dinner. 

Sam isn’t there. Anthony isn’t there. Vague excuses of friends houses and study groups. Amanda grills shish-kabobs on their patio, the name of which makes both of them nervous but turns out to be chicken on a stick and is _awesome_.

Daniel talks too much and grins too wide and holds his wife’s hand so hard Johnny’s actually concerned he might break her fingers. They talk about nothing; Robby’s job interview at a coffee shop, how the Dodgers are doing this season. After dinner and drinks, Amanda tells Robby to help Mr. LaRusso with dessert in the kitchen, it's a trifle, mostly chocolate, he’s going to love it. 

And the second they’re alone, Amanda looks across the table at Johnny, tilts her head.

“I should’ve known. The way he talked about you, it wasn’t some kind of macho score to settle. It was...pulling pigtails in the second grade.”

Johnny swallows, curls his toes inside his Timberlands. “It just kind of happened.”

“Mmm,” she nods, takes a long swig of wine from her glass. “Daniel LaRusso, screwing up like the rest of the mortals.” 

“Yeah, you’re telling me.”

Amanda leans forward, a hand on top of Johnny’s, her sandaled foot up between his legs, hard on his dick. He fails to swallow the weird little yelp that jumps to his throat.

“Never do that without telling me again. We could have some fun.”

She says it so sharp and firmly he almost blurts out _yes, Sensei,_ and then turns crimson at the impulse. Amanda grins, presses down on his crotch a little harder before sitting back in her chair, taking another drink. 

“And he acts like it’s so hard to get you to behave,” she laughs, and laughs, so hard she loses a little air, and now that his dick is no longer in imminent danger, he chuckles a little too. Some people are just born Cobras.

“Are you okay, Mrs. LaRusso?” Robby asks, as he carries one side of the tall glass trifle container out with Daniel. 

“Of course, hon,” Amanda says. “Just screwing with your dad.”

Daniel brushes his fingers against Johnny’s wrist when he hands him his spoon, olive skin flushing darker.

* * *

On the twelfth good day, Shan gets out of rehab. Amanda and Daniel drive her back into the loft to live with her son, hot water running and electricity buzzing. 

Johnny can’t say he’ll miss sleeping on the couch, and he hopes Shan can’t tell he was using her toothbrush. It’s hard to help Miguel with his PT when he doesn’t see him every day, and it’s a pain in the ass trying to figure out the Keenes’ weird Wi-Fi because it doesn’t have the right name like his does.

But something feels weird in his throat when he leaves, shutting the door with Robby on the other side.

He goes back to his apartment and clears out the rotting meat from his fridge, buys too much beer, works with Miguel on his walking. LaRusso sends him a text just dirty enough to make his mouth go dry – _your ass looks so good in those FB pictures_ – and it’s good, it’s fine.

Around eight PM, his phone rings. He switches to holding Miguel’s rig up with one hand and answers without looking at the picture. 

“Yeah?”

Silence on the other end. “ _Dad?_ ”

“Ro–” He cuts himself off, even though Miguel is already looking at him, fingers curled around his velcro straps. “Hey, what’s wrong?”

“ _Nothing, nothing._ ” Another long pause. “ _Mom ordered Thai food for dinner tonight. The weird kind with sprouts._ ”

Johnny’s nose wrinkles involuntarily. “Gross.”

“ _I_ **_know_ _._** ” 

Robby doesn’t say much more than that, just mentions he might get a burger and hangs up before Johnny can say goodbye, like the attempt at conversation exhausted him. Miguel swallows, looks up at him with those big brown eyes that ask _why are you talking to him?_

“He’s my kid.” Johnny hikes the rope up. “Come on, give me five more steps.”

* * *

It takes a while before the next good day comes along. 

Shan calls her sponsor in the middle of the night, weeping at a bar, and has to go to the hospital to get her stomach pumped.

Robby and Sam run into each other in the driveway, and she bolts like a deer back to her room. Robby doesn’t speak to Johnny or anyone else the rest of the week. 

Amanda kisses him in the pool house and Daniel turns withdrawn and guilty that he’s forced them both into some weird hippie triad they didn’t want, even though Amanda is the one who jumped on him and Johnny’s anything but displeased by the development. She calls off the whole promising night until she and Daniel can _have a long talk_ , and Johnny’s left to jerk off in his shower like some freshman.

Miguel gets that hurt puppy look when Johnny accidentally stands him up for lunch to go deal with some bullshit PO thing, and he wonders how anyone in the world can be a good parent to one kid, let alone two.

Even with his juvenile felony record sealed, it’s hard for Robby to find a job. When Daniel floats the idea that there’s always a place for him at LaRusso Auto, his eyes flash red and he takes off with his board again. Johnny gets a beer in LaRusso's hand before he can even stop blinking in shock and asks how many times he’s going to try that move.

“Fall down seven times, stand up eight.” Daniel says.

“Is that a Miyagi-ism?”

“No,” Daniel presses his leg into Johnny’s, and ghosts a kiss against the line of his jaw. “I read it in a fortune cookie.”

* * *

On the twentieth-third good day, Robby gets a terrible job at a cutesy coffee shop that pays shit.

On the twenty-fifth good day, he meets a blonde girl named Leah who works there too. She goes to the same fancy prep school as Aisha and plays varsity volleyball and doesn’t know a damn thing about karate. Johnny decides he likes her, even when Shan tells him she caught them having sex in the living room.

“At least he’s doing it in the house,” he says, and the line goes dead. " _What?_ "

That night, Amanda curls up in the corner of the LaRusso’s impossibly soft king mattress with a glass of red wine, watching with a smirk as LaRusso presses his fingers into Johnny, slow and slick and careful. 

He grips Daniel’s shoulder, tries to breathe, and wonders if being easy runs in the family too.

* * *

The fifty-fourth good day is Robby’s eighteenth birthday. 

Not a spectacular affair by any means, not like Johnny’s own, a week in Mexico that he can only remember blurred images of. The kid has to work at the coffee shop all day, which is bullshit, and he’s still being randomly substance-tested, so Johnny can’t even buy him a beer. Robby invites Leah and his mom and Daniel makes a plain yellow cake, despite repeatedly letting it be known he considers it a culinary crime against nature.

It’s quiet on the LaRusso’s patio, a little dark since one set of their string lights burnt out and no one bothered to fix it. Shan’s eyes notch all the empty chairs and Johnny knows she’s worried about the lameness of the party too. Robby's old friends are still locked up, and when he asked if they could do this on a night Sam was busy, Daniel couldn't hide the hurt in his eyes. _Maybe someday_ , Johnny muses, picking at the label of his beer. _Maybe by his twenty-eighth._

“This is so dumb,” Robby murmurs to Leah, twisting one of his hoodie's red drawstrings around his finger. The two rows of candles waver and glow under his chin.

“Hey, smart-ass, the wax is getting all over the frosting,” Johnny says, and Daniel rolls his eyes, chucks his shoulder gently. “Hurry up, make a wish.”

Robby closes his eyes and blows.


End file.
